


i want to be one of the greats

by suhoya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Injury, M/M, Whiplash AU, it's mostly oikawa-centric but iwaoi plays a very important part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhoya/pseuds/suhoya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru is not a genius, but he has raw talent, and that talent can only bloom to its full potential through practice. Endlessly, painfully agonizing practices that last for hours until his hands are bleeding and he can’t feel his sore thumbs anymore.</p><p>Because the only thing left for him to believe is that each drop of sweat and blood on his drums is what is going to bring him to greatness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first idea of a whiplash au was for sakamichi no apollon (bc u know, jazz), but since I can only be inspired for hq I began to think and…… oikawa popped in right away. I’ve been delaying the chance to write oikawa bc I think he’s the most complex side character in hq up to date, and the one we’ve got to know in more detail than the others (out of karasuno, of course) and I was worried I wouldn’t write him properly. Going to try my best and do him justice ;_; I hope you enjoy this fic regardless, especially if you’ve seen the movie (if not – what are you waiting for?? Seriously it’s amazing). Also, I won’t include as much (emotional) abuse/humiliation as the film does, but there will still be mentions of that. let's say my fletcher is "softer".
> 
> So yeah, this is the story of how ‘Oikawa Tooru is not a genius, but he definitely made sure to prove otherwise’.
> 
> {if you need any background music, here's the perfect [soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2lWF8ohXuI) ♡}

 

 

When Oikawa Tooru was a child, he always had this tendency to grab anything that resembled a stick and started hitting whatever was around with it.

 

_Tap, tap_. The noise of fallen branches against logs in the park.

_Clink, clink, clink, clink_. Metal spoons against glass on the table.

 

His parents gave him a xylophone for his birthday once, because surely their kid seemed to have something special for percussion, but for Tooru, a xylophone wasn’t enough.

 

When he was ten, he asked for a complete drum set. His parents stared at him, shocked by the fact that a kid at such young age would ask for something so big and complicated, but Tooru’s music teacher made sure to inform them that their kid loved drums and jazz, and that’s all he ever talked about in class.

 

The day Tooru arrived home and saw the huge drum set in the middle of the living room, _that_ _day_ was the best one of his life.

 

From that day on, Tooru forged and deepened his love and passion for the drums. He was playing and practicing every moment he could, and while he was at school, he was eager to come back and grab his sticks again.

 

Iwaizumi Hajime, Tooru’s best friend, had been the closest witness to Tooru’s musical awakening. Hajime also liked music, but he preferred wind instruments, and ended up getting his own saxophone at 12. Hajime was always by Tooru’s side, even though that could give him heavy headaches due to the relentless sound of drums, but as time went by, he learned how to tolerate it, and every time he heard cymbals clashing, he would remember Tooru’s stupid, happy face behind them. And Hajime was okay with that.

 

Both Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime worked hard through their high school years, with one same goal in mind: to be accepted at Seijou Conservatory. Seijou was the most acclaimed and prestigious music college in Japan, and only there they could truly become someone to be remembered. Especially Oikawa, who during the past years had been praised by his wonderful technique and growing talent.

 

So as long as he kept looking forward, eyes fixed on the long road ahead, Oikawa believed that he was on the right path to embrace his dream.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the short prologue. story begins on next chapter! thanks a lot for reading and giving this au a chance ^^


	2. Whiplash

 

Oikawa is hitting the end of his pencil on the table in a rhythmic manner, and it’s driving Iwaizumi mad. There’s this constant sound of wood against wood piercing through his ears, until he can’t bear it anymore and kicks Oikawa with his foot under the table.

“Oi, stop it already.”

Oikawa looks at him questioningly. “What did I do now?”

“Pencil.”

Oikawa stares at his pencil and realizes, then lets out a tired sigh. “Seriously, Iwa-chan, you’re no fun.”

“And you’re annoying as usual. This is the library, and _this_ -” he points at the table they’re sharing, “is a table, not your own drums. Stay quiet.”

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Oikawa sneers back.

They’ve been in the library for almost two hours, since it was Friday afternoon and there were very few students left, so it was comfortable for a last study time before the weekend started.

“That girl has been staring at you like, since we got here,” Iwaizumi says in a low voice some minutes later, and Oikawa tilts his head in a curious manner to, indeed, find a not very discreet girl looking his way from another table.

His popularity amongst girls is no new discovery to him, and he used to date girls more frequently during high school, but now that he has managed to enter the most prestigious music college in the country, girls and dating weren’t really present in Oikawa’s schedule.

“She’s cute,” he says nonetheless, and goes back to the endless papers he’s studying.

“Aren’t they all?” Iwaizumi replies with a groan.

Oikawa raises his head and hints a smirk at his friend. “Iwa-chan, don’t be jealous.” Iwaizumi’s face turns dark and serious, but Oikawa keeps talking. “I’m just stating the obvious. Like, you’re cute, too. Except when you’re angry, like…now?”

Oikawa is figuring out Iwaizumi’s expression, judging from his usual furrowed eyebrows and intense eye glaring. However, Iwaizumi shakes his head and decides to leave it there.

“I’m heading back,” he announces, and begins to pack his sheets into his bag.

“Already?” Oikawa asks, dragging his voice to show disappointment.

“I thought we were practicing tonight?”

Oikawa’s expression lights up and a sudden screech fills the room when he stands up abruptly from his chair.

“I thought you’d never say so!”

Iwaizumi carries his bag on his shoulder and leaves the library before Oikawa has even the chance to yell ‘Wait for me, Iwa-chan!’.

 

 

 

 

Sharing a room with your best friend is great, Oikawa believes.

He could have chosen a single room when they entered Seijou, but Oikawa was sure that even though Iwaizumi would not ask him to share a double one, inside that tough appearance he definitely wanted to. In some aspects, Iwaizumi and Oikawa were very similar, and it only took a glance to understand each other.

All Seijou apartments in the dormitory building had an extra practice room inside with thick, soundproof walls in which students can play and practice without disturbing adjacent neighbours. However, there was an established schedule for playing inside the dorms in order to avoid noise at unearthly hours.

It is barely early evening when Oikawa and Iwaizumi crash into their dorm and, leaving their bags messily on the floor, get inside their practice room and take their spots. Oikawa’s drums are there, and so is Iwaizumi’s saxophone.

It’s always a magical time, when they practice together. They’ve been doing it for years, but to do it _finally_ at Seijou, that was even more fulfilling.

Oikawa wastes no time in sitting on his tool and grabbing his sticks. His feet rapidly adjust to the pedals, and he gives a couple stomps. Iwaizumi is carrying his saxophone and puts the strap around his neck when he hears Oikawa already playing all drums and bombing the room.

“Hey!”

“I’m warming up!” Oikawa shouts back with a wide smile, arms rhythmically hitting the tom-toms with no wish for stopping.

“The hell you are!”

And Iwaizumi remembers that it’s impossible to stop Oikawa when he’s like this, so all he has left to do is blow fervently into the mouthpiece and accompany his friend’s notes with the warm, penetrating tune of his alto saxophone.

It only takes a few seconds for the chaos to merge and create a perfect, unique rhythm and flow that fills every corner of the room. After so many years playing together, they can click and match each other without effort, just by instinct and habit. They are so used to each other’s instruments that sometimes it’s hard to think of them as separate.

 

 

 

 

Iwaizumi manages to drag Oikawa outside of Seijou at the weekend. Despite the initial refusal of his friend, he only needed to throw a simple threat -- that unless he got out for a couple hours he would not practice with him anymore, but Oikawa doesn’t even need that kind of blackmailing in the first place, because he knows he enjoys Iwaizumi’s company too much to ever put it at risk.

The two music students end up hanging out along the streets near the local cinema, and eat at the cozy burger bar which plays jazz in the background. They’ve been having this child game for a while, of guessing which song was playing every time, and whoever guessed the fastest out of 5 would pay for the meal.

Oikawa has not lost a single time yet, and Iwaizumi begins to ponder just ditching Oikawa at the dorms once and for all before he undoubtedly goes broke.

 

 

 

 

A new week starts, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi share their usual classes along with other freshmen, and they are currently rehearsing _Caravan_ at different tempos when the doors slam open with a blaring bang.

A medium age man, probably around forty, breaks in without even saying hello, and their current teacher steps aside to let the newcomer use his place. He’s all dressed in black and has no hair. His face denotes experience, but also severity, and with just a quick glance around, he can take control of the whole class.

Everyone’s silent and nervous, and the air turns thick and heavy.

Everyone knows who this man is. Oikawa does, too.

Conductor Fuchizaki Teru.

“Alright, let me see if we got any gem here yet or you’re all just ordinary rocks.”

His voice is so deep and low that would make a bass grow pale in comparison. He raises his hand and points at the first trumpeter, who quickly blows in and plays a couple notes. However, he stops a second after when Fuchizaki closes his hand in a fist with a circling movement, a clear sign that demands silence.

The second trumpeter plays in, but he also gets shut after three notes. Same happens with the third, and the fourth.

“Rocks it is,” Fuchizaki declares, and looks at the other side of students, where the pianist and drummers are.

Oikawa is staring attentively at him, inwardly praying to notice him. Oikawa knows what it means to play well in front of Fuchizaki, to be acknowledged by him, to be _selected_. He’s grabbing his sticks so hard in anticipation that his nails start to dig painfully into his palms. His eyes follow Fuchizaki’s, and when they meet, it’s like a lightning strike.

“Drums, please.”

Oikawa swallows and loosens the tight grip of his sticks, to start smashing devotedly into his drums like his life depended on it.

He lasts longer than the rest of players before, but it only feels like a single second to Oikawa by the time Fuchizaki cuts him off.

Silence glooms over the room again, and everyone is either with his head dropped or nervously glancing at Fuchizaki.

Oikawa hasn’t stopped staring at him, feeling his beating heart still on his hands.

Fuchizaki takes a last look around, and lets out a short sigh before speaking up.

“Alright. Drums, with me.”

Oikawa’s knees jolt upwards, which help him stand up hurriedly, and follows Fuchizaki towards the end of the room.

“Tomorrow, room B12, 8AM sharp.”

And with that, Fuchizaki leaves the room as quickly as he came in.

Oikawa smiles proudly at himself, and when he walks back to his spot behind the drums he catches Iwaizumi sending him a sneaky approving nod.

His smile grows wider.

 

 

 

 

“Hey, congrats.” Iwaizumi says to him when they’re off class.

“Thanks, Iwa-chan.”

“I kinda had my doubts of you not fucking it up.”

_Wow, you’re a terrible liar, Iwa-chan._

“Suuuure. Because I always do that, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi can’t hide the shy smile forming on his lips, so he turns his look away from Oikawa and starts walking through the hall. Oikawa follows him with a compliant grin.

“Anyway, I’ve heard bad things about Fuchizaki,” Iwaizumi whispers when they’re next to each other.

That catches Oikawa’s attention.

“Huh? Like what?”

Iwaizumi tries to find the correct words. “He’s too… intense. With his studio band. The other sax guys were talking about him a few days ago, and honestly, they seemed quite concerned.”

Oikawa scoffs casually, not giving it any importance. “Bah, that’s probably because they cannot endure the pressure and responsibility that carries being in his band.”

Iwaizumi scowls at his friend. “Just how full of yourself are you?”

“Aw, Iwa-chan! Why are you being so rude to me today?”

He sighs. “Whatever. Just… be careful.”

Oikawa clicks his tongue and waves his hand in the air with a carefree move. “I always am. And really, it’s not like I’m joining the army.”

Iwaizumi stares at him sideways, and does not open his mouth again.

 

 

 

 

It’s 7:50 when Oikawa arrives to the scheduled room for Fuchizaki’s band, but when he enters he finds the room pitch black and empty. He wonders if maybe everyone really turns up just a couple minutes early and he just came early for nothing.

He switches the lights on and sits behind the drums, waiting for everyone to arrive.

 

8:00AM.

 

8:03AM.

 

8:08AM.

 

Oikawa is confused and tries not to yield to the thought that maybe he misunderstood the time or place, so he gets up and checks the front board with the information, and sees with shocked eyes how the first scheduled hour is 9AM.

Either he needs to go check his hearing soon or Fuchizaki messed up with him big time.

 

(Oikawa chose rather the latter.)

 

 

 

Five minutes before nine, the players of Fuchizaki’s band start coming inside, talking and fumbling around with their instruments, opening their cases and taking their seats.

Oikawa stares and tries to gather as much information as he can so he doesn’t make a fool of himself in front of everyone.

Iwaizumi had told him yesterday, that Fuchizaki had some kind of bad aura around him. Well, Oikawa certainly wouldn’t back off because of a silly newcomer prank.

Amongst the students, a tall guy comes into Oikawa’s vision and stops right in front of him. He’s glaring at him.

“You, alternate drummer, behind.”

Oikawa frowns and looks next to him to indeed, find another stool by the music sheets stand.

Right. Great. He’s not the core drummer yet.

He stands up and without changing his pissed off expression, lets the big stupid guy take his so desired spot and drops to the side.

The clock on the wall marks 9:00 sharp, and the doors open forcefully just like they did the day before at Oikawa’s class.

Fuchizaki rolls in like a robot, his steps following a fixed and calculated pace, and reaches the coat stand to hang up his jacket and fedora – all black.

Everyone is dead silent, hands and fingers on their instruments, ready to play in at the second Fuchizaki signals.

Fuchizaki sweeps the room with his piercing eyes, and stops at Oikawa.

“What are you doing there?”

Oikawa freezes. His mouth, agape, tries to blurt out coherent words.

“I tho—“

“No, not you,” Fuchizaki interrupts. “Ushijima. You’re not main anymore. Haven’t you seen Oikawa when you came in?”

So Ushijima is his name.

Oikawa looks at him and feels a huge wave of joy swimming through his body when Ushijima stands up and their eyes meet before switching stools.

_Yeah, you turn my pages now, bitch._

“Okay, everyone settled now? I’m still waiting for the day we can start on our damn time.”

Fuchizaki steps behind his conductor stand and flips through the sheets.

“Alright, boys. _Whiplash_.”

The sound of rustling papers fills the room in a rush. Ushijima annoyingly moves their sheets for Oikawa to see, and he barely has a couple seconds to look at the hundred numbers and specific notes around the staves.

Fuchizaki raises his arm and the room falls quiet.

His stretched, immobile arm is the signal.

There is not a single sound or breath, until Fuchizaki swings his hand in the air and the music bursts in at full blast.

 

 

Oikawa feels ecstatic.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to add too many quotes from the actual movie but i HAD TO put that one. _turn my pages, bitch_. it's a masterpiece. :')
> 
> so things are slowly happening. thanks for reading & thanks for those who stick around for another chapter! <3


	3. If You Want The Part, Earn It

 

When Oikawa leaves the studio room, the first thing that comes into his mind is telling Iwaizumi. Telling his best friend what an amazing experience he just had. Iwaizumi was always the first to know about anything, and that habit hadn’t changed a little bit.

As for Iwaizumi, he was just lying on his bed while reading a book, a very pleasant and relaxing activity that got interrupted by the time Oikawa got back into the dorm, closing the front door with a loud push, and showing up to his room in heavy steps.

“Iwa-chan, you’re not going to believe…!”

“Don’t shout.” Iwaizumi snaps without looking away from the pages.

“Okay, okay,” the drummer replies adjusting his tone and sitting by the edge of Iwaizumi’s bed. “Hey, seriously, the rehearsal was incredible!”

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

“Fuchizaki isn’t that bad?” Oikawa continues, “I mean, I think he clearly messed up with me for calling me in earlier than planned, but hey, besides that he’s…”

“He did what?” Iwaizumi raised his head now and stared at Oikawa in confusion.

“He basically told me to go to the studio room an hour earlier, but nobody was there. Everyone turned up later.”

“What? That’s stupid.”

“He did, though.”

“Then he’s stupid.”

Oikawa shrugs with a dry smile. “As long as I’m the core drummer. I think he liked me.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but give him a long, skeptical stare before getting back to reading.

“Don’t let him take advantage of you and your passion.”

Oikawa really enjoys it when his friend shows concern and protection in such a nonchalant way possible, and that only gives him reasons to tease him more. He drops his body to the side of the bed next to him, and props himself with his elbows on the mattress.

“I can’t believe Iwa-chan’s soooo worried about me.”

Iwaizumi moves his book closer to his face.

“Shut up.”

In fact, Oikawa loves it.

 

 

 

 

(The second day with the studio band is probably what Iwaizumi really meant. Too bad Oikawa wouldn’t realize until too far down the road.)

 

 

 

 

The music room has been blasting _Caravan_ for barely ten minutes, and it’s the hundredth time Fuchizaki makes them stop.

“I don’t know what’s up with you guys today, but you’re sucking. Big time.”

Everyone falls silent, as the usual ritual when he speaks. Oikawa observes with full attention.

“That specially goes for you, Fujikata. I hope you don’t suck your boyfriend’s dick this bad, because if that the case, you should reconsider some things.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows rise in surprise. So maybe this is the real Fuchizaki everybody seemed to fear.

The alleged Fujikata guy doesn’t move an inch from his chair. Nobody looks like even breathing.

Fuchizaki treads lightly on the wooden floor, passing around the students, arms crossed and scrutinizing every single face.

“If we don’t step up the game, we’re not going to win shit. I’m not going to stay here and let a few of you ruin my band just because you dedicate your lousy lives to remain worthless.”

These words sink deep in everyone, but to Oikawa, it just sounds plain obvious, because why would you waste your time there if you’re not going to give your all?

Fuchizaki stops right in from of the drums, and he finally meets Oikawa’s fixed gaze. He sees the intensity and rigor travelling directly from those experienced eyes, but Oikawa isn’t intimidated, and doesn’t even blink.

“Oikawa, I’ve heard really good things about you, but honestly, I’m still waiting for them to show.”

That is a sentence Oikawa wasn’t expecting, and it hurt, it hurt his pride and his goals, and everything he’s working for.

“I can show them right now, sir.” He manages to say in the most respectful and clear voice he could filter through the anger that was starting to spark inside him.

Fuchizaki’s sudden chuckle becomes another unexpected event Oikawa doesn’t really like.

“Please, be my guest, we’re all eager to listen to the grand king of drums.”

Oikawa’s face changes completely, and he’s no longer returning an attentive look, but _glaring_ right at him. The grip on his sticks tightens; he counts to three and the powerful sound of drums overruns the room. Oikawa continues right from where they left it at _Caravan_ , hoping that now that he was the only one playing, nobody would get in his way.

Fuchizaki doesn’t wait very long to stop him.

“Dragging. Read your fucking sheet.”

Oikawa glances at his paper, revises the tempo, and gets back to it. Hits and bumps with both hands and feet, and yet Fuchizaki shouts at him.

“What tempo is this? Can you read these numbers?” He’s got closer and now is next to him, his arm tapping frenetically at the corner of the paper.

“Yes, two f—“

“Then fucking _play_ them!” Fuchizaki yells into his ears and Oikawa swears it’s worse than being smashed with a cymbal.

He’s not going to fall into his trap and his provocations, Oikawa is tougher than that, Oikawa is going to earn his spot in this band, and he’s going to play any fucking number Fuchizaki sets him to.

He tries to keep his head focused; he tries to ignore the loud yelling and clapping around him – _Faster! Faster! Get on my fucking tempo!-_ , and he plays and hits and beats like his life depends on it, and pours all his force and soul into the very single thing he’s always enjoyed and worked hard for every single day of his damn life.

 

 

 

 

Oikawa reaches the dorm with the worst headache, and thanks Iwaizumi is not there because he doesn’t even feel like saying hello.

He lands on his bed so tired as if he has run a marathon, but the truth is that his body is just fine. It’s something else inside, in his brain and in his gut, which is becoming a threat to his health. It’s Fuchizaki’s ruthless words ingrained in every pore of his skin. It’s his pride being trampled. His work and dedication, thrown out to the trash.

But Oikawa never gives up, and this is only another rock on the way he can overcome. With a long gulp of water and then splashed over his face, he gets in the practice room and keeps playing. He doesn’t bring in a watch or a phone because time is the least of his worries right now.

 

 

 

Iwaizumi comes home after a while, and finds him so immersed in his own bubble of music that it takes a couple screams to catch Oikawa’s attention.

Thankfully, Iwaizumi’s voice is that of an angel’s, compared to Fuchizaki’s.

“How long have you been practicing?”

Oikawa is sweating, and he notices his throat is so dry he can’t reply without coughing.

“I don’t know, for a while.”

Iwaizumi gives him a quick scan and sighs.

“I’m going out for a run. Come on, change your clothes and let’s go.”

“Huh? I can’t leave now, I’m in the middle of getting this part right.”

Iwaizumi stares at him with disapproving eyes.

“You need to clear your head a little and get some fresh air. You’re gonna suffocate in here.”

 “I’m okay, Iwa-chan, I just need to practice more.”

 

After Iwaizumi shakes his head and leaves, Oikawa feels oddly disappointed.

 

 

 

(Oikawa may be suffocating inside these thick, white walls, but he has to do it.

He has to keep going forward.)

 

 

 

 

When his eyes start to become blurry and his hands are sore, Oikawa realizes he really needs a break. Iwaizumi told him, and even if it’s with a little delay, he follows his advice. He decides to go downstairs and wait for him in the street, but right when he’s opening the door he stops on his tracks.

There’s a muffled giggling somewhere, too grating to be Iwaizumi’s.

“Amazing lungs you got, then!”

Short, deep chuckle, definitely Iwaizumi’s.

Two figures appear at the end of the hallway, and Iwaizumi comes into vision. Iwaizumi and a girl.

Iwaizumi looks forward and sees Oikawa, who hasn’t moved an inch since he stepped a foot past their door, staring at them with a blank expression.

“Well, see ya,” he hears Iwaizumi say to that girl and she smiles in response.

Iwaizumi heads towards him in fast steps, and when he’s just a few meters away, Oikawa asks. “Who was that? Isn’t she that girl from…?”

“Just elevator small talk,” it’s his friend’s tired reply between gasps when passing by their door frame, leaving Oikawa’s question hanging in the air.

The girl waves him goodbye at the distance before turning to the opposite corridor, but Oikawa’s stare just travels across her way with a straight face.

 

He makes sure to remember that girl in order to mentally add her to the list of people to never speak to.

 

(Somehow, she didn’t look that cute after all.)

 

 

 

 

 

It’s another day with the studio band.

It’s another day with Fuchizaki.

 

Oikawa gets his fucking tempo right. He plays as told, he gives his all, but to Fuchizaki, it seems it still isn’t enough.

 

“You think you’re fast, but you’re just fucking slow as a snail, and you’re dragging all of us together into your filthy, greasy trail of shit.”

 

“If you think you can earn the part with this, you better set your goals miles lower.”

 

“Hit the fucking drums FASTER!”

 

Oikawa’s got his eyes deep shut, his teeth clenched, and his ears - a painful witness of the frenetic bangs of his sticks and the stomps of his feet.

There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, there are agitated gasps for air, and what it seems like the expected sore, throbbing pain in his hands is nothing but blood being rubbed and stuck into his palms.

It kind of relieves him that the pain is only physical.

 

 

It takes a whole hour until Fuchizaki, sat down on the floor and hands on his temples, finally stands up and tells Oikawa to stop.

“Practice harder, _much_ harder, Oikawa, or you’ll just be kicked out of here as quickly as you got in.”

Oikawa feels such a contained wrath all over him, so overwhelmingly heavy on his head and shoulders that if his eyes could burn through the wood on the floor in that moment, he could set a massive hole on fire.

“Ushijima, please clean this mess off my drum set.”

 

The spurted blood on its surface is starting to dry.

 

 

 

 

 

This time Iwaizumi’s already there when Oikawa gets back, but as the day before, there is no breath left on his throat to even utter a hello.

He directly heads to the practice room under the confused eye of Iwaizumi.

“Oikawa?”

Oikawa ignores him and sits down on his stool, grabs his red, stained sticks again and resumes playing with his own drums.

Iwaizumi barges in seconds after the noise fills the room and keeps yelling Oikawa’s name.

“What are you doing!?”

“Hey!”

“Oikawa!”

“Stop!”

“STOP RIGHT NOW!”

Oikawa hits the cymbals at full force, and then his arms fall to his sides.

When the vibrating noise disappears and the room is back to silence, Iwaizumi stomps right next to him.

Oikawa doesn’t raise his head.

“What the fuck did that guy do to you!?” Iwaizumi yells and grasps him by the wrists with a forced twist.

“Nothing.”

Oikawa tries to pull away, but Iwaizumi’s grip is too tight, which can even lift him from his seat.

He’s always been stronger, after all.

“Have you seen your hands!? I swear to God, Oikawa, don’t bullshit me on this.”

“It’s nothing!!” He shouts, and that startles Iwaizumi so unexpectedly that his grip loosens and Oikawa pulls away instantly. “I’ve practiced until my hands bled. That’s all.”

It doesn’t sound so stupid in Oikawa’s head, but that’s definitely something Iwaizumi can’t agree with. His eyes go blank and he exhales frustratingly. “You’re completely out of your mind.”

Truth hurts, most of the times, but then a good attack is the best defense, even if it’s against someone who is everything but your enemy.

“How the hell would you know? This is the only way I can beat everyone! To be the best! To finally achieve something in my life! I’m working really hard for it, don’t you see!?”

“So you put your drums on top of your fucking health? That’s it!?”

“Iwa—you’re exaggerating it! I’m _fine_!”

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“You know what? Fuck your drums and your hands. To hell with them. You think doing this is good for you, right?”

It’s obviously rhetorical, but Oikawa still feels the need to say something, to defend himself since his attack has broken into pieces by his knight in shining armor, but the tight knot at the back of his throat won’t let him fight back. He can only stand there, while Iwaizumi continues to glare at him in a way he’s never done before.

“Okay, do it. Keep doing it. Maybe you’ll realize when it’s too damn fucking late.”

And by the second Iwaizumi storms out of the room and slams the door shut, Oikawa knows that he really didn’t mean a single word of what he said.

Or rather, it’s another one of the hundred things Oikawa’s trying hard to believe.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(
> 
> well that escalated quickly? more angst & new challenging cameo on next chapter! thanks again for reading and sticking by~ <3


	4. Dismissed

 

 

It kind of helps Oikawa that he has to get up early when Iwaizumi’s still deeply asleep. It relieves him from the uncomfortable position of facing his best friend, when his last memory from the night before was pounding painfully in his chest.

 

It’s not the best day to join the studio band, not when his argument with Iwaizumi is the only thing that occupies his mind at the moment. However, Oikawa tries to remember why he is there, why he was selected, and why he still _must_ prove he’s worth a spot in Fuchizaki’s band. That is the reason he needs to keep going forward.

 

His hands are covered with a few bandages, and even though he’s not bleeding anymore, the soreness stays, so it’s a constant reminder that doesn’t fade away regardless of how many layers you cover it with.

 

In the end, he may just accept it. That’s how it’s going to work, and that’s how it’s going to be.

 

He’s the first one to enter the studio room, despite already being more than aware with Fuchizaki’s quirky schedule. Everyone else gathers inside a few minutes later, and just like expected, Fuchizaki comes in when the lively talking of the students shifted into whispers and finally become silence.

 

Maybe Oikawa has already grown accustomed to Fuchizaki’s screams and demands. It’s been a week already but it feels like a month. Or even a year, Oikawa is not really sure how time passes inside those walls covered in wood, sweat, swelling and aching.

 

His hands don’t bleed at all today, maybe it’s because they’ve stepped up the game alongside him – a way of telling they’re tougher now, and that they’ll need even tougher beats to drip down his palms again.

It’s okay though, since those are the only tears Oikawa’s willing to let go.

 

He was ready to call it a not-so-bad rehearsal morning, since he managed to drag out a couple compliments out of Fuchizaki’s mouth, but clearly he still had a lousy card up his sleeve.

“Oikawa, wait here with me.”

The rest of players leave the room in bouncy, quick steps – that’s what feels like when the weekend’s so close, and Fuchizaki, so far. Oikawa has started to understand a lot of things lately.

“So I came across a new student yesterday, maybe you’ve heard of him before.”

A few names come up in Oikawa’s mind, but he doesn’t think highly of any of them. Fuchizaki observes him with a widening smirk, before he continues.

“He’s managed to enter Seijou even though he’s younger. He’s what you could call a genius.”

_Genius_.

Oikawa hated that word. He hated it to no end.

It only took a couple seconds for his body to become tense, and the smug smile on Fuchizaki’s face only made it worse.

In that moment, a low knock on the door breaks their gaze off each other, and both teacher and student look up.

“Kageyama! You’re just in time, come in.”

Oikawa sees a black haired boy enter the room coyly. He’s almost as tall as him, but clearly younger, judging from his facial features. Why the hell was Seijou accepting younger students?

It wasn’t fair.

“So, as you may know, this year’s jazz band competition starts next week, and the core drummer part is still in the air.”

_I thought I already earned it_ , is what Oikawa wants to spit out at Fuchizaki, but his solemn stare is enough warning to make him keep his mouth shut, even when his lips are struggling to utter the words.

“With your addition now, Kageyama, I hope to pick the right option on this matter — for our best interest.”

Kageyama nods timidly, which pisses off Oikawa. He doesn’t like the way this new person is stealing his spot just because he’s called a ‘genius’. That doesn’t automatically mean he deserves the part, not when Oikawa’s been practicing so hard under the unceasing pressure of Fuchizaki’s orders. This Kageyama guy had no right to appear out of the blue and get his earned part handed in on a silver platter.

“Oikawa, will you show him a bit of that part we’ve been dealing with? Let Kageyama learn the ropes around here.”

Right, and now he’s told to serve as a warm-up. Well, if that’s the case he surely is going to make it count.

He sits down behind the drums and waits for Fuchizaki to set the time – one, two, three, four.

His foot is too eager to kick the pedal that he comes in just a thread early, but he manages to dissipate it with the catchy and truthful beauty of his trained double time swing.

A few seconds later, Fuchizaki interrupts. Oikawa holds the ride cymbal.

“Hmm, a bit off tempo, but that’s okay. Kageyama, your turn.”

“I can try ag—“ Oikawa promptly replies but he’s shut upon by Fuchizaki.

“No need,” he says, shaking his head in a condescending way it only gets Oikawa more fired up inside.

So he stands up from the stool with as much poised annoyance as he can hide, and steps aside while Kageyama takes his throne.

The newcomer breathes in, and hits the toms earnestly; feet kick right after, and then the room is surrounded again with the thick pounding of jazz drums.

Kageyama wraps it up with a powerful hit to the cymbals, and Fuchizaki gives him a short applause until the ringing of the metal dies out.

“That’s what I call a beautiful sound. This is why I love my studio band – you guys come in here and earn your part.”

Oikawa can’t believe this is happening. Everything is just ridiculous and nothing makes sense.

He can’t help it – he scoffs. “Excuse me, how was that different from what I--?”

His retort dies in the air when Fuchizaki sends him a nasty glare, followed by his loud, demanding voice.

“That’s exactly the point. It’s not that different from what you just did, and it’s only his first day. Figure it out.”

For the very first time, Oikawa feels the urge to throw a cymbal at his bald head.

Fuchizaki seems to read into his thoughts, because he grins scornfully at him before turning away and leave the two students by themselves.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, and he thinks that Kageyama isn’t going to either, since he hasn’t uttered a word from the moment he came in.

So it strikes him unexpectedly to hear him speak first, and to find out that he’s got such a deep voice despite his age.

“You were great, Oikawa-san.”

It’s almost a smile what Kageyama flashes towards him, lips and eyes showing admiration, maybe, but Oikawa’s too blind to realize, and what looks like a sincere praise grimly transforms into a declaration of war.

Kageyama seems to add something else - Oikawa barely catches the words ‘looking forward’ or ‘do my best’ amongst the buzzing in his brain.

 

_Get out._

 

_Go away._

 

_Don’t come here._

 

His vision of Kageyama turns distorted, and he raises his arm in a spasm, ready to smack the threatening figure in front of him, when something else clasps his wrist and stops him.

Iwaizumi is next to him, holding his arm in the air, with an infuriated expression over his face.

“You should go back to your classes, boy,” he says to Kageyama with a firm voice, very close to a command.

Kageyama looks at him, eyes wide in confusion, but doesn’t waste time and strides out of the room.

Iwaizumi exhales loudly, and releases Oikawa’s arm with a careless shove, unable to repress his anger.

“What the hell was that?”

Oikawa can’t think of an answer.

“Who was that kid?”

“He’s… the new drummer,” he says so low it’s more like a whisper.

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Goddamnit, Oikawa.”

Oikawa looks down, the weight of what just happened now materializing into a harsh reality.

Perhaps it’s time to reconsider.

Perhaps he’s pushed himself too far towards that goal of accomplishment.

Perhaps he’s losing the right path.

Perhaps…

“I’m sorry,” he concludes.

Iwaizumi gives him a long look, and his shoulders unstiffen.

“Let’s go, we still have one lesson left.”

His voice doesn’t unveil any kind of emotion.

 

 

 

Oikawa is spaced out during almost the entire class, eyes wandering tiredly into nothing.

He glances many times at Iwaizumi though, but Iwaizumi doesn’t look his way even once.

 

 

 

It is late afternoon when they get back to their dorm. They’ve barely exchanged monosyllable words in the span of a few hours, but Oikawa is thankful enough for that.

Iwaizumi hits the shower first thing, and Oikawa waits on his bed, thoughtful. He stares at his palms dressed with bandages – he’s clearly been too stupid to reach this.

Still, he wants to play, he yearns to keep playing as passionately as he’s been doing all this time. And then, he remembers that part of that joy has always been having Iwaizumi by his side.

His friend seems to be getting dressed in his room, and Oikawa gets up excitedly like his five year old self, running to meet his dear _Iwa-chan_.

He stops by the doorframe when he sees Iwaizumi dressed up in a shirt and jeans, but he ditches any second thoughts and tells him what he thought of.

“Iwa-chan, wanna practice together?” He manages to regain his usual melodious voice a little, that sweet voice which has been missing lately.

Iwaizumi turns his way, looks at him for a second, and then resumes putting on his shoes.

Oikawa insists.

“Like old times?”

It’s actually stupid to say that, because they’ve been doing it almost every day, but Oikawa knows that the past hours have felt like too much longer.

Iwaizumi seems to hesitate for a moment, and he answers averting Oikawa’s eyes.

“I can’t. I’ve got plans.”

Something inside Oikawa begins to shrink.

“ _Plans_?” Never had a word sound so terrifying to him, it almost makes his voice crack. “What plans?”

Iwaizumi’s never had any kind of plan without him. Not a single time.

“It’s nothing,” he says, eyes still roaming around far from Oikawa’s. “Well, see ya later.”

Iwaizumi walks away and leaves Oikawa stuck in place, a scene too similar to the night before, and then Oikawa suddenly remembers a few, angry words that now start to make sense.

 

_Maybe you’ll realize when it’s too damn fucking late._

 

Actually, Oikawa is not surprised. Because if there was one thing he believed without a doubt, is that Iwaizumi has always been right.

 

And that he’s been so, so wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not betrayal, it’s not neglect, and it’s definitely not loneliness.

It’s nothing else but his drums and his hands within his four white walls of escape.

It’s his ritual. It’s his life.

 

 

 

 

(Maybe the sun has set by now, maybe everyone’s fallen asleep.)

 

(Maybe Iwa-chan’s still gone.)

 

 

Maybe the extra noise coming from the door is nothing but the thriving echo of his drums.

Maybe the muffled screams behind it come from his brain telling him to never stop playing.

Maybe there’s a storm, and the bombing sound of his music is singing with the thunders.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyyyy
> 
> sorry for taking longer to update with a new chapter... i had kind of a writer block plus busier weeks irl ;;  
> next chapter is very important, i've already written some scenes (lol they were the first scenes i wrote for this fic and the main reason behind it bc yolo), so i hope to update sooner than this one!!
> 
> again, thanks a lot for those following this story! i really appreciate it!! <3<3


	5. Practicing

 

The longest weekend of Oikawa’s life consisted in locking himself up the practice room with no other company than his drums and his mattress.

Because he had been stubborn enough in his aim to become better –better than Kageyama and anyone else who may get in his way- that he decided to put everything he might need enclosed in the same space, with no means to leave the room for more than what was the strictly necessary.

He didn’t see Iwaizumi, but he did hear him, and a lot of times – his distant concerned voice asking him ‘where the hell are you taking that to’ when he was grabbing his mattress across the flat; the even more concerned and definitely angrier ‘aren’t you gonna eat today’ during the few seconds he left the room to hit the loo; and finally, the repetitive knocking and thumping every one or two hours (maybe less, maybe more, Oikawa couldn’t really tell) at the door with dull shouts which involved his name and imperatives such as ‘get out’, ‘listen to me’, ‘we have to talk’, ‘please don’t do this’.

 

Oikawa doesn’t want to do it this way. He knows it – but he also knows it’s the only way available for him. If he doesn’t focus solely in improving and practicing, he’s going nowhere. Everyone will take the lead before him, and he will regret any other activity which doesn’t include his drums and his sticks. Any other activity will just waste his time; a valuable time he can’t throw away.

Even if that means ignoring the worried pleas for attention of your best friend.

 

He has to practice.

He _only_ has to practice.

And he must do it alone.

 

 

The wounds in his hands inevitably find a painful breach – it’s naturally impossible to avoid the fact that he spends long, hard hours gripping the wooden sticks tightly and slamming them in rough hits, continuously without a break, in a manner which is far from healthy.

He ends up having to leave the room one more time to clean himself, and he prays Iwaizumi won’t appear and smack his head to the ground because of his despicable attitude.

He doesn’t seem to be around though, which makes it easier for Oikawa to sneak into the kitchen and fill a jug with water and ice cubes to sink his hands when their bleeding is too much.

He brings the cold recipient to the room along with some food he doesn’t even care to look at – anything will do as long as it keeps him going.

When the door creaks behind him and then closes after a drained screech, Oikawa lets his back rest against it for a while, followed by a sigh at the solitary vision ahead of him – his mattress lying up against the wall, and in the center there’s his drums, waiting for him like they always are, and just like his hands, covered in drops and stains of blood.

They certainly seem to belong to each other, after all.

 

 

 

 

On Monday he can’t miss the studio band rehearsal, so he has to leave his isolated space for a couple hours.

When he has showered and ready to leave, he hears Iwaizumi in a low, husky voice, coming from his bedroom.

“You can’t stay like this forever.”

It makes him stop on his feet for a bit, hesitantly, whether to say anything or just escape, as he’s been doing for almost three days.

He should probably have replied ‘yes, you’re right’, but he was hurt and weak, more than he could unwillingly admit, and he doesn’t want to feel, to _look_ like that – so he runs. He runs away like it’s the only possibility in that world without bounds where he’s trapped inside.

 

 

 

As expected, being under the same roof as Fuchizaki for two hours doesn’t help to make him feel better.

Even if he’s not the only player in the band, Fuchizaki keeps targeting him with his nasty remarks, as if he’s pushing him to the limit of how much he can bear until he snaps. It doesn’t seem he cares at all about his worn-out features, his deeply frowned forehead, his gritted teeth, his palms and fingers covered with stained bandages.

But Oikawa manages to maintain his composure, all for the sake of showing Fuchizaki that he’s all wrong for choosing that kid over him, because he still can do more than what he’s doing, if only he gave him the opportunity.

When rehearsal time is done and everyone leaves, including Fuchizaki, Oikawa is left alone in the room, T-shirt drenched in sweat and hands twitching that he can’t even hold the sticks properly. He’s got lessons now –maybe Iwaizumi’s waiting for him, maybe he isn’t at all-, he should stand up, put away his sticks, grab his bag and head to class.

He definitely should do these things, but Oikawa hasn’t been doing the things he should, lately.

That’s why he walks the other way and goes back to his room, where he’s found alone once again.

 

 

The more pain you suffer, the tougher you become. At least that’s what the theory says, and Oikawa believes in theory, as long as it proves its value in practical terms. And it’s working for him, because the pain he was feeling at first has notably lessened. It doesn’t mean the pain has gone away, though – it just means that what he felt in an hour could now be held up until three.

One way or another, sooner or later, his agony would show up regardless.

 

 

It’s probably been another two, or three, or maybe four hours since he closed the door before him and sat behind his drum set. At some point he’s not sure if the buzzing he hears is part of his beats or not, so he just keeps playing.

It takes a while to notice that indeed, what he’s hearing is not echo, nor percussion, nor music at all. There’s a heavy knocking at the other side of the door, and Oikawa knows who is making it.

He ignores the increasingly loud thumps, muffled amongst the frenetic wave of toms, snare, cymbals – but somehow the noise manages to sneak into his head, knocking inside as well, and it gives him so much ache he has to stop.

His arms drop exhausted, energies vanished into the thick air drowning in the room, and the sticks slip off his hands to the floor.

He can now hear not only the pounding, but also the shouting.

“Oikawa, open the fucking door right now!”

Oikawa thanks that it’s barely two meters distance from the door, otherwise he’s not sure he’d be able to make it without collapsing.

He’s dragged his feet in short steps, and with still a trembling hand, he unlocks.

It’s Iwaizumi who opens the door instantly and Oikawa doesn’t even have time to go back without the door bumping into him, and Iwaizumi grabbing his shirt immediately after.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” he yells just a few centimeters apart.

Oikawa doesn’t answer; he prefers to keep the answer to himself, even though it’s plainly evident.

“What the fuck have you been doing these days? Do you think this is normal?” his grip is still hard near his chest, but his voice somehow seems to lower from shouting to loud speaking. Oikawa appreciates so.

“I really want to punch you in the face, I really do,” he spits out, lips pursed, “but with what you’ve done to yourself already, I don’t think you need more.”

Iwaizumi notices how uselessly his words seem to say nothing to his friend.

“Don’t you see I’m worried for you!?” he shouts, raising his tone again and shaking him.

Oikawa hasn’t been able to see properly for days. He hasn’t paid attention to anything besides his own obsession, that is.

His knees finally buckle and that’s all he can take before dropping languidly to the floor, head tilted to one side and covering it with his arm on his knees in shame, because Iwaizumi has seen him like this, he _is_ seeing him like this, and Oikawa can’t go hide anywhere, anymore.

“Iwa-chan, I’m so tired,” he mutters with a shaky voice, a thin thread hanging in the air, in danger of being split in two.

The truth is that he’s not just tired, he’s exhausted. _Shattered_. He has lost perception of everything and he’s beginning to doubt himself, even if he tries and tries so hard to deny it.

The truth is that his inner strength can’t break apart – he can’t let it die. It doesn’t matter if he slips, if he trips, if he stumbles, if he breaks, if he bleeds. He can endure anything physical as long as his soul is alive. As long as his spirits keep high, struggling, aiming for the best. His sweat, his blood, his wounds and scars are the proofs of how hard he’s trying.

But there’s a different emotion he’s feeling now. It’s fear and disappointment. He feels it when he looks at Iwaizumi, and it makes his heart pound in pain. A completely different pain from the cause of the blood smudged over his hands.

Iwaizumi kneels down in front of him. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

He puts away Oikawa’s arm, and he grabs him by his shoulders and props him up, so they’re face to face. Oikawa refuses to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, but his friend forces him by cupping his face with his hands.

“Oikawa. Look at me.”

Oikawa wants to cry, but he is not going to.

“Oikawa.” He doesn’t blink. Just a pause. “Tooru.”

It’s like when they were five year olds and Iwaizumi was trying to make him stand up again after falling into a puddle of mud, when he embarrassingly tripped over with his short, wobbly legs trying to catch a dragonfly.

“You’re the most important person in my life. I want you to be alright.”

Iwaizumi has always been there by his side, and he always picked him up no matter what the shifting ground lay ahead.

Oikawa seems to understand just now.

 

 

_Maybe you’ll realize when it’s too damn fucking late._

_Dammit Iwa-chan, why are you always so right about everything._

 

 

Oikawa manages to respond with a drained nod. He’s grateful Iwaizumi’s holding him, otherwise he would be splayed on the floor, cold and dirty. Not that different from how he feels, after all.

“You’re going to get your shit together right now, and then I’m going to clean your wounds and you’re going to rest. For your fucking health, and mine.”

Iwaizumi’s the only person in the world who can make swear words turn into something beautiful and comforting.

“Iwa-chan, can you heal heart wounds, too?”

Iwaizumi seems to be taken by surprise, but he expression softens.

“Oikawa…” he begins, his voice now lower and more careful.

“You were right, I realized too fucking late,” Oikawa interrupts, coming up with the right words. It’s hard, but he has to say it. He breathes in. “I know I’m being selfish but… I’d rather have this throbbing pain in my hands for the rest of my life… than what I’m feeling in my chest.”

There is that fear he’s been dreading all along – the physical pain, the injuries, were just a smoke screen shadowing something deeper. It’s agony coiling inside, carrying too much weight.

“I’m getting nauseous, really,” he adds with a flat chuckle, trying to brush off the fact that his head is about to spin faster than a roulette.

Iwaizumi doesn’t let that happen, and he embraces him.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t rub more salt into the wound,” Oikawa replies in a shaky voice.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he repeats, more firmly, his arms also tightening at the same time.

Oikawa lets his head rest on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, and bites his lip, holding back the tears.

“…I know.”

 

 

During the next minutes, Oikawa feels like he’s floating. Iwaizumi carries him to his room and makes him sit down on his bed. He does as promised, and he cleans up his hands carefully with the first aid kit. He ties new bandages around his palms, and between those delicate motions he looks up to Oikawa, reassuring that everything is fine.

 

Everything is going to be fine.

 

 

 

When Oikawa opens his eyes, he finds himself lying on the bed next to Iwaizumi. His breathing hits his neck in slow, warm blows of air through his nose and mouth; his arm is resting across his body, ending near Oikawa’s left hip. It’s there where he feels the warmest, because Iwaizumi’s hand is clutched around his, tight enough to not let go, and gentle enough not to hurt.

He now remembers what happened – Iwaizumi treated his wounds and then he fell asleep because of the fatigue.

Oikawa moves their hands upwards as slowly as possible, and he brings them near his mouth. He can smell Iwaizumi’s skin, and the warmth and scent makes him feel at peace. Without realizing, he’s kissing it softly, lips against his skin for bare seconds.

If love had a sound, it would probably be this very moment.

Iwaizumi hums somehow, and in the span of beautiful, calm seconds in which Oikawa can stare at his sleepy face, he stirs a bit before regaining his full conscience.

He looks at Oikawa, and it takes a while until he gathers what’s happening.

“I’m returning the favor… you took care of my hands, now it’s my turn,” Oikawa explains, nudging their hands closer to his cheek, and pressing them together.

“I’m not so stupid like you so as to hurt my hands,” he replies, his usual reprimanding voice back to life, but this time it is softer, warmer, and a bit huskier due to the sleep. He locks his eyes with Oikawa’s before speaking again. “But I was stupid enough to fall in love with you.”

 

Oikawa can’t tell who the first to lean over the other is, but that doesn’t really matter – what matters is that their lips meet each other’s for the first time, and they kiss to show what words could never convey.

It’s gentle at first, intimate and careful, taunting. They’re brushing, tasting, getting to know themselves. The pressure in Oikawa’s chest is no longer painful, but fulfilling – it’s warm and safe. Iwaizumi holds him really close, as if he’s trying to make sure he’s not running away again. Oikawa has no plans on doing that, not now, not ever.

He deepens the kiss and lets Iwaizumi roll over him, pressing their bodies together. Oikawa gasps a bit, and Iwaizumi breaks their kiss.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, sounding really concerned.

“Yeah,” Oikawa replies, but his grin hides further reasons. “You hurt my pride. You kiss too well.”

Iwaizumi stares at him with an irked expression which looks too funny to Oikawa, and he can’t help but to laugh sincerely. And it’s truly relieving.

 

 

They keep kissing and touching for a long time. Iwaizumi makes sure to not fall into Oikawa’s jokes again, so he barely gives him any chance to speak a word. His lips and fingers are too intense that leave Oikawa no other choice but to breathe out and moan against him, even that becoming too difficult to control when Iwaizumi’s mouth decides to trail down his chest and stomach, above his underwear and circling around sucking spots as an advent to something even more stimulating, and Oikawa doesn’t care about anything else in the world right now besides someone named Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

 

 

 

 

 “I’m going to be honest with you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa confides almost an hour later, “I didn’t even think of my drums or playing jazz for a second.”

The aftermath was being peaceful and tranquil; Iwaizumi was just staring at the ceiling with a comfortable, relaxed state of mind until Oikawa, as usual, had to interfere.

“What a compliment, Asskawa,” the grumpier Iwaizumi was also back.

“It’s true!” Oikawa replies with a proud, childish smile. “And that’s the best compliment one could ever get from me.”

“Yeah, I feel so blessed.”

“Well, actually… I can give you a better one,” Oikawa narrows his eyes at Iwaizumi and gets closer, foreheads touching. “That I didn’t know you could blow other things so well, you know… besides your sax.”

Iwaizumi’s face becomes a shy shade of red, an expected combination of embarrassment and irritation that only Oikawa held the key to it. Instantly ashamed, he shoves his hand against Oikawa’s face, but Oikawa just laughs.

“You’re such a shithead, Oikawa.”

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ shithead, Iwa-chan,” Iwaizumi feels the hot breath coming out of Oikawa’s mouth land on his already warm palm.

“Ugh, seriously, stop talking. That’s gross.”

“Really, is it?” He asks with a smug smile, which he promptly has to hide at the threat of Iwaizumi’s glare. “Alright, alright – I know you prefer my kisses, anyway.”

In the end Oikawa knows he can be right sometimes as well. Iwaizumi ends up too weak when Oikawa teases this blatantly, so he gives in to the wet touch of his lips and tongue, and the hand that previously blocked him was now tracing Oikawa’s neck, caressing his skin and pulling him closer.

Oikawa behaved a lot better when he wasn’t talking, but more specifically when Iwaizumi himself was the one to make him shut up.

The drummer is still unaware of a lot of things probably, but at least he’s come to know what the most important one is, and now, he’s getting back on the right path.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That oikawa line about iwa-chan blowing other things better than his sax was actually the first passage I wrote for this fic. speaking about priorities. anyway so the angstier chapters are done, the next one is officially the last one, and then there’ll be a short epilogue. :> ah, I was really excited to finally get to this part. these cuties~
> 
> Please let me know if you catch any cringe-worthy mistakes, I’m being really terrible at proofreading this fic…
> 
> Thanks for reading once more <3


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